Yuletide by the Ancient Bridge
by jaqueline-littlebird
Summary: Christmas preparations with Jane and the gang in Puente Antiguo. Garbled traditions from several places.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Written for the 'Installing Christmas Decoration with Jane, Darcy and Erik' prompt on Norsekink LJ.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Marvel's.

suggested music: „Frohes Fest" by Die Toten Hosen

* * *

**Yuletide by the Ancient Bridge**

The harvest feast was over, Midwinter now approaching fast. Thor learned with pleasure that the mortals, too (or still) celebrated _Hugins Jól_, the Raven Feast in honour of Valfaðr and his Wild Hunt.

„Hey, we could always hang Loki!" joked Fandral, giving the chains that bound the exiled prince a tug.

Volstagg guffawed, spewing glögg over his beard. Jane's attempts at switching them to eggnogg had been futile. For the guests from Asgard, it was mulled wine or nothing this time of year.

„No you couldn't, not with the puny sapling-imitation which Jane has acquired." Sif stated, emerging from the adjacent room, looking flustered. She carried another bunch of mistletoe, to be discarded outside. The plant was banned from Jane's home this year, ever since one god of mischief had taken up residence in a doorway where some branches had then been installed, smirking. Calling for Thor to remove him each time anyone wanted to pass unkissed was just too bothersome.

„Fandral, don't just sit here, go help them!" the warrior woman ordered, leaving.

The blond swordsman sighed, rose labouredly from Jane's low lumpy couch and grabbed two handsful of the straw goats, stars and little figurines Loki had been weaving these past hours. From the adjacent room, he heard squabbling and curses.

„Thor, stop, you're toppling it!"

„Worry not, Jane, I ..."

„That close to the wall, we can't reach the sockets anyway."

Entering the room, Fandral saw exasperated Erik standing, pointing at a row of dents in the back wall of the kind in which the mortals stored their lightning power, now barely visible through the branches of the artifact the lady Jane had purchased. Christmas tree, she had called it. Resembling a sapling fir (not taller than herself), but made of a substance called plastic. There weren't any real firs to be had in this smalltown, she had stated, and an artificial one wouldn't needle.

By now, the ridiculous thing was decked in tinsel, red Christmas balls and purple ribbons, as well as some dark threads with candle-like attachements strung up on them (or hanging down, or pointing any direction, really). The mistress of the household was crawling under it, cursing screws and angles, while Thor untangled himself from the candle thread he had apparently just wrapped around.

„Power shall not be a problem, Erik." said the thunderer, angrily shaking off the last of the strands from around his wrist. „See here ..."

Just as Jane emerged from underneath the 'tree', Thor grabbed the plug and let force flow. The fake-candle-chain glowed like emerging suns, then exploded. The lights went out; so too did the music about jingling bells they had had playing from some we-cannot-afford-a-bard-device in the living room. Blue little bolts frizzled all over the fake tree, which started to melt and smoulder, emitting thick black stinking smoke. From a fist-sized knob under the ceiling, a siren shrilled. So the mortals had fire alarm without Heimdall? There was shouting from the kitchen.

Fandral grabbed the lady, slung her over his shoulder and carried her outside to safety. From the corner of his eye, in the flickering lightning light, he saw sir Erik wielding a bright red container. Hopefully something magic, thought the warrior.

They gathered outside. The building would need quite some venting. Fandral carefully set the lady Jane on her feet without touching any … touchy parts when seeing Thor stalk towards them, face blackened with soot, covered in white foam from head to toes.

Hogun still had the lady Darcy slung over his shoulder. She was feebly whacking his butt with an oblong metal sheet, grousing about 'brownies'. Fandral really didn't want to know.

„Enough with this realm's Yuletide customs!" boomed the god of thunder, angry. Clouds gathered above them. „It's time to set up everything as it should be. You will clean up here." His stern gaze swept the gathered company. „Lady Jane? May I ask for your StarkPhone? Mine is out of order, I fear. Please invoke that connecting web! I shall need instructions on where to find what we need here."

* * *

The next day Volstagg was on guarding Loki duty, and that meant they occupied the kitchen. Judging from the heavenly smells the god of mischief had been tormenting the household with, they had a huge supply of gingerbread on stock, and a roast in the making. Of course Volstagg wouldn't share any tidbids in advance.

Fandral decided to go outside and get some fresh air. As he stepped out onto the porch, the lady Darcy bumped into him, who had been running looking back over her shoulder.

„Jane? Jane, Erik, come and see that. Your lover's flying in with our Christmas tree. Oooops. Sorry, sorry, my fault." She glanced up at Fandral quickly, then squeezed past as he moved to hold the door open.

Outside, a shadow fell. Prince Thor came flying in bearing a tree taller then Freyrs most prized oaks on Vanaheim. Its trunk, covered in furrowed reddish bark, was about four times as thick as Thor was tall, the root ball larger than the lady Jane's house. The lowest branch, when standing, would be so high up that the highest buildings in this village could fit under it with room to spare. The tufty lush green crown whafted the pleseant scent of coniferous trees over them as the god – tiny in comparison – shook and adjusted it. „Give way!" He boomed, gathering clouds and power.

Just as everyone had gathered, watching, the thunderer brought Mjölnir's power down mightily. Into the smoking crater he dropped the tree while the first raindrops fell. This was indeed a worthy tree for the Aesirs' celebration. Even the realm eternal had none better.

„You see, Jane," the crown prince shouted happily, „THAT is a real tree, fit for us gods. Now let us eat, my friends, I am famished. What is there for dinner?"

The lady Jane was appropriately speechless. Sir Erik was, too, while the warriors cheered. Fandral expected Loki to make some bitter jibe, but oddly, the lady Darcy instead had a complaint. With a sorrowful mien, she handed lady Jane one of these picture-displaying devices.

„Face it, honey. He's kidnapped General Sherman."

The swordsman could not fathom what Thor's past battles on this planet had to do with the situation at hand. Or was that general a foe to be sacrificed? Well, there would be storytelling later.

That evening they had goose roast with red cabbage, an angry call from the secretary of the environment on one of these Midgardian far-call devices, another more collected one from agent Phillip, and a request for exclusive pictures from Toni the Man of Iron. The lady Darcy dealt with all these issues, then uncovered sequences of moving pictures for them all to watch. Apparently, many mortals were in possession of moving pictures recording devices, and unsurprisingly, a lot of them had wished to commemmorate Thor's latest quest.

They really should bring such things back to Asgard.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Jane was woken by loud hacking, chopping from above, splintering wood and screeching metal. She extracted herself from under Thor's arm (no use trying to wake the guy when he had drunk that much again the previous night), hopped out of bed and rushed outside in just her nightshirt. The winter air was crisp but far from freezing. On the flat roof stood Volstagg in Erik's purple bathrobe (which didn't close over his belly), chopping away at beams and tar paper with his two-handed battle axe.

„Hey, you! What are you doing? Stop! That's my roof!"

The warrior didn't seem to hear her over his own ruckus.

„And a good morning to our dear hostess. The early bird watches the sights." Loki stood by the sequoia tree, watering it with the garden hose. That was going to be some water bill.

„Loki! What is Volstagg doing up there chopping a hole in my roof?"

„Aaaah, my lady!" the trickster god grinned. „I read up on Midgardian midwinter customs in one of Erik's books, he has quite the selection. Did you know of the red-robed fellow who is to scramble down the chimney? Well, Volstagg has the beard and physique, and the axe. Unfortunately, your … mansion is devoid of proper fireplaces. You didn't think your aircondition air-vents would suffice, now, did you?"

„Speaking of robes and such – my compliments to Midgard's latest fashion style. Would that Asgard's maidens adopted it." He leered at her. Jane suddenly felt very naked. The roof seemed a lot less important. The damage there was done now anyway. Besides, she was getting chilly after all.

A van pulled into the driveway and she hurried inside so that at least strangers would not see her in her nightshirt (barely knee-length to make it worse). Blessedly then, the wood chopping above ceased. Volstagg hopped nimbly down to observe Loki, who met the delivery people, dragging his chains.

* * *

Breakfast was waffles with nutella, syrupy pancakes and Thor's beloved pop-tarts. Apparently Asgard lacked sweets, as well as coffee. The Aesir dug into the sugary goodness like bears in autumn feeding frenzy. After the second mug of coffee, Darcy tried for conversation.

„Okay, Mad Evil, kitchen is yours from now on, as long as no neighbours or their dogs go missing. Where did you learn cooking anyway? I always thought princes had servants for such tasks."

Sif dropped her fork. Volstagg coughed. Thor crushed the coffee mug in his fist. Erik glared at the would-be diplomat, then resumed eating, pointedly not caring.

Loki looked her in the eyes across the table, smiling his thin smile of derision. „I have centuries of experience in the _womanly arts_, my lady. In Asgard, mastering cooking, herbal lore and alchemy is prerequisite for admittance into a witches' coven. So too are spinning and weaving – otherwise there can't be understanding of the strings that constitute reality. I wanted to learn magic, so I did what was necessary."

„So the string theory is true?" Jane blurted out, astonished, while Darcy in her foot-in-mouth way asked: „'kay, and what do men do up there?"

„Why, everything that is important, little lady: fight and drink." _Now_ he genuinely smiled. „Ask Thor." Judging from the chains jangling, he kicked his older brother under the table for emphasis.

„Enough!" the thundergod bellowed, bringing his fist down on the table (plates went hopping), looking at no-one in particular. „My brother is a mighty warrior like everyone else. Nobody shall say otherwise."

„He knows I know agent Coulson told him to say that, and the agent has it from the therapist." Loki winked at Darcy conspiratorially.

Thor left in a huff, and the others trickled out too, leaving Loki to do the dishes.

* * *

Today was Thor's turn to guard his brother, and they spent most of the time outside, Loki sitting on the porch working on his gingerbread house. Not the full-scale version they would have in Asgard – Volstagg would be disappointed – but it somehow seemed to take up quite a lot of time. Fandral sighed. He'd long suspected Loki was born in the wrong body, same as Sif. Maybe a cruel or drunken Norn had switched their souls at birth.

The warriors spent their time sparring, Sif among them, while the odd second prince was sitting bent over his creation, applying 'sugar icing' or other unheard of exotic stuff. Now and then he'd look up and yell instructions to Thor, who was decorating the tree. The ladies were inside, working on their astrology or other völvur tasks, guarded by sir Erik.

Another horseless carriage pulled into the driveway. Fandral sauntered over to learn what this new one brought. More ribbons, straw and sheets of beeswax? Or ingredients for Loki's Midgard food experiments?

He had to admit food here was delightful in its diversity and spicyness, so unlike Asgard's constant fare of pork, goat and apples (thanks to Idun's garden and the resurrectable animals) with just a little side dish of game or vegetables from Vanaheim on festive occasions. Hadn't Volstagg eaten two buckets of dumplings?

Just when he passed underneath the tree, a high voice yelled „Watch out!", and Fandral ducked, drew sword, looked left and right. Not up, though. A man-sized beeswax candle came crashing through the branches and struck him to the ground.

* * *

Funds application forms finally finished, the three scientists called it a day and went outside. Darcy would not miss a second more of the spectacle if she could help it, she declared. Erik stalled. Quietly, he talked to Jane. „Jane, you need to stop this. He is not good for you. Stop this and get out of this mess while you still can! Make him leave and take his muppets with him. These people are not like us. They'll get you killed before long if you are too involved, Jane."

„Oh stop it, Erik, please, I'm grown. Thor is a nice guy, and he cares. You didn't mind him that much after drinking with him in the bar, remember? And his friends, they are … sure they are super-strong and from a different planet but they are just normal guys, kinda."

They did not breach the topic of the mad mass-murderer. Erik grumbled about there being reasons Scandinavia had the highest proportion of atheists these days.

The first thing Jane noticed when stepping out of the door was the gingerbread house ready and abandoned on a side table, dark and gloomy like a wooden longhouse, crafted in meticulous detail: overlapping almond slivers for shingles, horse head gable ends, snow and icicles of sugar icing, holly bushes front and back (probably made from coloured marzipan), and two dark chocolate ravens sitting on the roof ridge.

The next thing drawing her attention was the artist lounging in a deck chair, ordering that tiny blue and red figure high up in the tree about. „You know what, the whole tree's still slanted. Push it a little to the right … further … right. Oh no, it's wobbling back! Can't you ever get it straight? Oh well give up then. Next candle then, yes, there. Nooo Thor, further out! It's not in full view from here now. Further, further … That's too far."

As Darcy yelled „Watch out!" , a man-sized candle came crushing down from over 50 metres up, flattening Fandral like a beetle. The god of mischief shook with laughter, slapping his thighs, so hard the chair broke down under him.

They all rushed to help the fallen warrior, Thor apologizing profusely while lifting the candle now turned beeswax lump with ease. To Jane's surprise, Fandral rose without help, if shakily. The popping noises his neck and shoulders made when he tried to rotate them drove her to turn around and leave. Not like us, indeed.

Her gaze fell on the truck where the chained villain now stood chatting with the drivers, completely unsupervised. Oh no, was he going to hijack the car and make off? Just then, the trickster turned and yelled: „Volstagg, Hogun, over here! Lend these good men a hand to speed things up, will you? They brought Thor's commission."

„I did not commission any … oh. Oh that is excellent, Loki."

A truckload full of straw goats, -men and reindeer, life-sized or larger, with attaching ropes. With an extra gift of Santa caps and funny Christmas hats from Puente Antiguo Piñata Factory. They must have hired all the town's kids and unemployed for an order this large. Well, Thor was a prince, so he could probably pay well, right? Or was this on her as the hostess? She'd better check.

„Loki? Loki!"

„Yes, my lady?" Sweet, indulgent smile. He was positively looming over her, and she was suddenly aware that, standing just a few steps away from the crowd, he could wring her neck before anybody could intervene. She refused to dwell on the thought.

„I was wondering – how do you pay for all the stuff you order? I mean this, and all the foodstuff and the wine, the new carpet and extinguisher, and the candles wax? By the way we do not use open flame candles in this place, normally. They'll go out up there from the wind in any case."

„I am the god of fire, Jane." He said smoothly. „The candles will burn as I tell them to."

By now, Darcy and Hogun had approached to listen in.

„As for the money: You often do not close the laptop in your room. I took the liberty of uploading some files with you and Thor to sites where such garners some income. The agent Barton taught me how, back then. I thought it only fair. Would you prefer I cheated these good men out of their wages, as I usually have to when questing with that oaf? Asgard knows not of pay or money, lady Jane."

Darcy squeaked and hurried inside, drawing Hogun with her. Jane slumped down on the driveway where she stood, devastated. Thor came flying and punched Loki in the face before helping her up.

* * *

In the evening, the company were sitting in the living room, drinking glögg and burning their fingers peeling freshly roasted chestnuts while watching Little Lord Fauntleroy on TV. Even Erik thawed somewhat. During commercial breaks, he told of julegrød, the gruel with the single almond that entailed a gift to the finder, and of special beer with liquorice and spices.

Jane excused herself to the restroom, but went to the kitchen where the god of mischief was still slaving all alone. „You lied."

„Gold of lies, remember?"

„Why did you?"

He started, out to say something, but then he reconsidered. He sighed, deflated. „Thor claims to protect you, but he doesn't."

Jane bristled. „I can take care of myself. I've got all kinds of firewalls, debugging tools ..."

„Yes, yes, I know that much." He smiled ruefully. „Still. He doesn't pay attention."

She could not deny that, now standing here alone with the criminal. „So how did you come by all that money, truly?"

„Online poker."

She let that pass. He went on soaking his freshly baked raisin stollen with molten butter.

* * *

Before retiring for the night, Jane and Darcy hung a sock each by the key hooks since the house did not have a fireplace despite Volstagg's best efforts. Apparently the Aesir had a similar tradition, but earlier in the season, which Thor had much lamented missing this year here: The kids would place their boots outside or by the door, good kids receiving nuts and apples, bad ones birch twigs to be whipped with. Darcy had suggested wait-a-minute acacia back then instead, Jane agreeing, but Thor had decided it was not the same.

„Hey, how do you guys clean your socks anyway?" Darcy, as always, never knew what not to ask. Though Jane had wondered the same too. Thor wore the same clothes every day. No matter how dusty and sweat-soaked they were in the evening, they were always fresh and clean in the morning.

„Why, lady Darcy, we just vanish them." Fandral obliged smiling, vanishing his vambraces, as if that explained anything.

Sif spoke up: „The things go to the troll dimension underground, where the trolls clean and repair them and return them good as new, or else. It was there that Loki spent his years as milkmaid when he learned and bore ..."

She stopped when she heard Thor growl.

„Apologies. It's not my place to speak of such things." The Warriors Three all shook their heads.

* * *

Jane woke in the night from sniffling and from scratching. What was there outside now? A stray dog, coyote or raccoon? Normally she would just ignore it, but with the hole in the roof … And who knew where Loki might have placed his cakes for cooling … She found her robe and slippers and a torch and made her way to the front door, where a long nose was protruding underneath, clawed fingers scratching at the floorboards. This was no coyote. She really needed to alert the guys. There was shuffling on the roof now too, and noises from the kitchen. Had Loki maybe called some minions?

On cue the resident villain appeared, a magic light above his palm.

„Gáttaþefur, dearheart, you have come! Let's hug you!" The door flew open. Outside, a hunched-backed creature huddled, long nose on the floor still, blinking owlishly into the light. Loki went down on his knees by it and hugged it, and the creature hugged him back and squeed. „Oh my little one, I've missed you! Let's look at you. You've grown, I'm sure. But thin, so thin. Come in, I've just the treats."

The creature scrambling after Loki at his hand looked up at Jane, finger in mouth, and she forced a smile.

„Daddy?"

„Not daddy." Loki chided them. „That is aunt Jane. Be nice to her."

He led the little fellow to the kitchen where to feed him. Somehow Jane's heart filled with a warm glow seeing how even the worst villain had someone to care for this nice season.

As if given permission by her thoughts, several more of the creatures abseiled from the hole in the roof, to be greeted and hugged by Loki like children long lost. Þvörusleikir was given dishes and cutlery to lick clean. (Yuck.) Pottaskefill and Askasleikir were allowed to lick the rests of gravy out of pots, and printen dough out of molds. If those were trolls, Jane was fairly sure she never wanted her own stuff cleaned by them.

But then, what if they depended on it? There was this very thin fellow outside pressing his nose to the window, Gluggagægir, whom Loki would sneak a cookie now and then. Whatever was the evil guy to them, she wondered? He looked so happy now, caring for them, feeding them treats.

Two more dragged in the gingerbread house from the porch, and looked questioning, not having touched it. Loki told them it was not for them but for the household, consoling them with spiced printen cookies. So that was where Jane's thyme had gone to.

The deranged god now looked at her as if he had just noticed her standing there. „Oh by the way, my lady, I trust you keep you laboratory in order? No data unprocessed over the year? No strands of wool or probability lying around?"

She mutely shook her head.

„That's good. That's very good." A large black cat was slinking between Loki's legs. „She would have had to eat you otherwise."

What? Was he serious? Just then, the house awoke at last.

* * *

Fandral had always known the mortals to be weird. No sane person would invite the trolls, no matter their … relation to the younger prince. Chasing down the candle eater from the tree alone had been a task. („Ommnomnom, me eat!") Never again.

Hurðaskellir the doorbanger would not let anyone sleep, just like his mother – oh well. But now the tree was ablaze in candles (those left, anyway), endless rows of mortals in their carriages parked to watch and join in the celebration, Loki's children handing out glögg, hot chocolate and 'Viking Blood' (a Midgardian creation made of mead and cherry juice), and they ate all that cake, and all the mortals now were singing of how they'd come a-wassailing. The warrior sincerely wished the younger prince had been born a woman as he should. Or she. Whatever.

Just then, he saw the comet in the sky the mortal astrologists had been talking about for weeks. Somehow, this was the season for wishes and stars.


End file.
